Parallax
by Celtican
Summary: An event looks a different way to each person who experiences it. The events of Sabrina Shepard's story, from her perspective and from the perspectives of those around her. Sole survivor/spacer/paragade.
1. The Monsters in the Closet

Parallax

by Celtican

One: The Monsters in the Closet

2177—Shepard

In the darkness, the bandage across her eyes made her face itch ferociously. Her bruised and broken limbs sang a muffled, painful tune under its smothering blanket of medi-gel and pain killers, but the drugs didn't do anything for the itching. She wanted nothing more than to scratch and scratch and to hell with the consequences she just needed to _scratch_. At the very least the pain and itching distracted her from thinking about the mission to the colony, about the colonists cowering in their pre-fabs, speaking timorously about noises in the dark (_Rafel shouting Contact contact LT we got contact and they're fuckin huge!_).

She felt her empty stomach lurch and boil with nausea; drugs and stress and memories and food she couldn't keep down weren't helping her recovery. She had achieved a few hours of unbroken sleep, only to have several more of sweating, restless nightmares. Her fingers twitched. She wanted to shut off the silence (_with_ _her rifle the smooth click-click THOOM of her Avenger) _her guitar, quieting the shouts from the dark with _(Her own voice: Toombs the LT's hit where's LaGuerta then an evil insectoid screech SHEP GET DOWN then her vision went dark and then the burning oh god my face, my fucking face!) with _a simple tune, maybe some old Earth rock or that Asari piece she'd been practicing. _God damn I would _murder_ for a cigarette right now-_

Footsteps; _Thank god, I can complain about my face itching_, she thought, clearing her throat and getting ready to speak in more than just a muffled drug-addled slur. The footsteps paused, and she heard a soft intake of startled breath. _Fuck. Visitor. Not doctor._

"Hello?" She rasped. _Cool, my voice works this time...sort of._

The visitor's footsteps softly crossed from the door to the bed; she comically pictured the person tip toeing like the old Earth cartoons where someone didn't want to get caught. She managed to keep the drug giggles under wraps for the time being.

A voice: "Sabrina? Sabrina, honey, are you awake?"

Instant tears erupted into her barely healed eyes, the salt burning less than the thresher juices at least but still burning like hell. _Mom. God damn they took me shouting for my mother for mama to come kill the monsters that finally came out of the closet to stop them from eating my face seriously. Fuck, it's good to hear her voice again._ "Mom?"

"Oh god, Sabrina..." a cool, soft hand stroked the one patch of skin not covered by bandages, just over her left eyebrow. "They sent a dispatch as soon as they stabilized you," she said. Sabrina Shepard had rarely heard Hannah pause and swallow and catch her breath _(The last time was dad's funeral on the _Agincort _after the Blitz We commend the body of Jared Avery Shepard to the stars Hannah swallows and catches her breath but holds back the tears until the torpedo casing closes and slid down the tube where the mass accelerators sling it into the sun) _but this was one of those times. This time it was for her. Sabrina swallowed.

Hannah pressed on, stronger this time, "Tell me what happened."

This was not the interrogatory demand for a sitrep like the insensitive bastard from a few hours back. This was talking to mom and telling her about an admittedly fucking horrible day at the office. She could rage and cry and blame and despair and not have to worry about her jabbing a needle of sedative into her arm so she could sleep it off.

So she started talking.

"We touched down...supposed to investigate some reports of strange activity in the hills around the colony. The LT was a new guy, barely had enough time to learn more than our last names...we found a malfunctioning distress beacon out in the hills...when we went to fix it, the monsters...sorry, the thresher maws. They just came from underground...the LT...got torn in half, Sergeant LaGuerta was hit but barking orders on the comm to get reinforcements from the base...Toombs was there, but then I couldn't see...I got hit in the face with the spray from the acid that killed Rafel...I think I blacked out, because I woke up alone...it was so quiet, mom...like there hadn't been anything that happened there ever. Like I'd gone for a walk by myself and fallen asleep like the kids in the stories you told me at bedtime...only I knew it wasn't that because why would a spacer kid who'd never gotten dust on her civvies ever do that and I couldn't see, I couldn't see...I just couldn't see and it_ hurt..." _She stopped short, the dying echoes off the walls making her realize she'd been shouting. Her throat closed around a sob. She gripped the bed rail with her good hand to keep herself from scratching her bandage off.

She she lost her grip on the sob as her mother's hand slipped over hers.

Author's Note: Comments and critiques are most welcome. My goal is to create small scenes from different perspectives in the _Mass Effect _universe, adding flavor to characters who otherwise don't have much (or enough, in my opinion!).

Thanks for reading! - Celtican


	2. When Science Experiments Meet for Drinks

Parallax

by Celtican

Two: When Science Experiments Meet for Drinks...

2183 – Kaidan & Joker

_K – just hit dirtside...meet me for drinks the usual in about 30? - Joker_

Kaidan shrugged into his civilian clothes, wincing as he reached over his head to put on his favorite brown leather jacket. Joker wouldn't accept 'rampaging migraines caused by shitty brain hardware' as an excuse, not when he essentially needed boots with inertial dampeners to walk down the street in natural gravity without breaking an ankle. He swallowed some pain pills, checked his amp out of habit, and stepped out into the cool October evening. After he'd flagged down a cab, he popped open his omni-tool and fired back a reply:

_J – I'll be there; you still owe me a couple from the last time...not that I'd be *that guy* and remind you of it. Heading out now. - Alenko_

Kaidan did find himself grinning through the pain; he didn't go out often, preferring his personal time paid out in ways he remembered afterward. He broke that rule for the loudmouthed flight lieutenant he'd met on Arcturus – _damn, was it only a few years ago?_ - because Joker was one of the few people who treated him like a person, not a science experiment. He would poke fun occasionally, which Kaidan gave back just as he got, but Joker knew when to ignore the bullshit and look for himself, to use his instincts and make his own opinion. It was probably the reason he was the best helmsman in the Alliance Navy.

The Usual – the name of the bar, not just Joker avoiding its name – was an old dive bar frequented by new arrivals to Vancouver. These visitors usually stopped in first, since The Usual was the first non-commercial place to get food back on Earth within a mile of the spaceport. A faded "thanks for 75 years of more than the usual!" banner adorned the plate window near the entrance.

Some of the other biotics Kaidan knew didn't go there often, since the hum of the drive cores (though distant) made some of the more sensitive L2s either flare up, get nosebleeds, or set their teeth on edge. Kaidan, who was quietly known for his excellent control over his abilities despite the wiring he'd been given as a teenager, felt nothing more annoying than chewing on a piece of aluminum foil. The beer usually killed that off quick, and it did ease his migraines a bit if he had one. The dubious question of eezo flavoring or not, the food was good enough to demand a return visit, but not enough to damage a man's paycheck for the month.

After an uneventful cab ride across the city, Kaidan dodged around a small group of smokers idling outside the bar and made his way inside. The warm, pleasantly unpleasant aroma of stale beer and fried food slid into his nostrils. There weren't many patrons this evening, and those Kaidan saw were ones he'd seen before; not quite regulars, but not quite strangers. He caught sight of a familiar hunched figure in a hooded sweatshirt, and pulled up a stool beside Joker.

"Long cruise, sailor?" Kaidan joked. He didn't often catch Joker off guard, but when he did, he made sure to take advantage of it.

"Yeah man, but I'm not on that side of the..." Joker began, stopping short as he realized he wasn't being hit on by a drunken bar fly. "Screw you too, Alenko," he groaned. The two men shook hands and ordered their beers. "How the hell have you been?"

Kaidan shrugged. "Things have been...well, quiet, until recently" he said.

"Still seeing that contractor? Kayla? Kylie?"

"Kiera, and no. She turned out to be...well, contracting with other interested parties, if you get my drift."

Joker grimaced sympathetically. "Ouch. She was a bit of a bitch anyway."

"Tell me about it. You still seeing that physical therapist?"

"Ha-ha. Hilarious reference to the cliché cripple dating his therapist."

Kaidan rolled his eyes. "You _were_ sleeping with her though."

"Yup. Human pretzel named Lee. Sadly, she transferred to another station and we needed to break it off."

"Must be nice to enjoy things casually."

Joker feigned offense. "Alenko, please! I'm a professional!"

"Uh-huh. So nothing new going on?"

"Well...I finally got another frigate posting, which I have no shame in saying that it's about damned time." Typical Joker – boast when the boasting's good.

"Really? That's great! Which one?" Kaidan took a swig of his beer. He'd heard of a few frigates needing helmsmen, but nothing noteworthy enough that he thought Joker would crow about.

Joker grinned a Cheshire-cat smile. Kaidan suddenly felt nervous, since Joker smiling _that_ smile usually meant a misadventure or two was about to come out...or embarked upon. To Kaidan's surprise, he pulled out a small OSD and held it between two fingers. "Scan this beauty, my dear Alenko. I basically kissed ass to deliver this to you, so make sure you appreciate my sacrifice."

Kaidan's anxiety level went up another notch. "Joker, if I wind up in the brig..."

"Fuck the brig and scan the disk."

"Alright, alright, I'm scanning it _mom._" Kaidan brought up his omni-tool, scanning the file from the OSD. He did a double take when he saw the file. "Joker, these are transfer orders for me. How the hell did you get them? I knew I was getting a new assignment but..." When he didn't get an answer, he skimmed the orders. He nearly spit his beer out when he saw what they were for.

After a minute of stunned silence, Joker let Kaidan off the hook. "You're sitting with the helmsman of the newest and most bad ass Alliance frigate, and you have in your hands the golden posting on said frigate. Captain Anderson graciously allowed me to deliver the orders when I found out you were posted there too, pal." Joker gave him a hearty slap on the back. "See, those fancy magic powers of yours are good for something after all!"

Kaidan raked a hand through his hair. "Holy shit," he breathed. "_SSV Normandy_, Staff Lieutanant 1st class...shit this is a pay grade bump, too...wasn't that frigate supposedly a classified black ops project?"

"Supposedly, but most of the classified stuff is still under wraps. She's a new frigate, co-op project with the Turian Hierarchy...and god damn is she sexy. Can't wait til Friday's launch."

Kaidan chugged the end of his beer and flagged the bartender down for another. "Man, I don't need to know about how you've already christened the pilot's seat, Joker," he quipped, still floored by the news. "And Anderson's the CO? This is the ship that's going to the 5th fleet for recon, right?"

Joker cackled. "Yes, and yes-"

"But-"

"They got Shepard for the XO."

Kaidan's eyebrows discovered escape velocity, almost disappearing into his hairline. up into his hairline. "You're shitting me."

Joker scooted his glass between his hands. "No-ope," he said, elongating the word for emphasis. "Dances with Thresher Maws herself."

"Man, that's harsh. Where'd you pick that charmer of a nickname up?" Officially, he was an officer and therefore above giving credence to scuttlebutt from the enlisted contingent. Unofficially, he'd heard that as a superior officer, Sabrina Shepard was as hard and uncompromising as a desert. She played by the rules, rarely deviating unless there was enough cause indicating she should do so. From all accounts, she wasn't a bitch or a hard ass, but she held a command presence that made even the most outspoken sergeants lower their voices when talking about her. It wasn't something she'd cultivated after Akuze, either.

"You're obviously not rattled by this in the slightest," Kaidan continued, taking a pull from the beer.

"Hell no," Joker scoffed. "If I got rattled by every potential hard case that came down the pipe, I'd still be in basic." He waggled his empty glass at the bartender. "Believe it or not, I do know how to shut up and salute occasionally."

Kaidan snorted. "I'll remember to remind you of that when you make an ass of yourself next time."

"Gee thanks, Kaidan. Fucking ray of sunshine you are."

"All part of the basic service package. Hot towels and consideration for your dignity cost extra."

Joker flicked condensation from his hand at Kaidan's face.


	3. There's Nothing to Shoot on Eden Prime

Parallax

By Celtican

Three: There's Nothing to Shoot on Eden Prime

Ashley

"Chief, will you look over the ammo controller on my Lancer again?"

Ashley Williams looked up from the scope of her rifle, meeting a set of green eyes belonging to a very nervous, very green private. A slight frown creased her brow. "Again, Nelson?" she asked.

Private Nelson, a lanky teen fresh out of basic, nodded and scratched the back of her neck. "Yes ma'am, I think I uh...bricked the overheat sensor...again. Ma'am," she stammered. She gingerly placed the closed assault rifle on Ashley's workbench, like a supplicant making an offering to a vengeful goddess.

Ashley sighed. This would make the fourth repair to Nelson's weapon since the private joined up with the 212 a month ago. Nelson had an annoying tendency to reflexively waste ammunition when something startled her. Ash made a mental note to bring it up to the LT when she saw him again.

The simple combination of a quiet posting and no major combat beyond the occasional two-bit smugglers or pirates meant that there was simply nothing to shoot on Eden Prime. Gas bags for target practice or to blow off steam, yeah, but certainly nothing requiring full auto. Ashley's friend and fellow marine, Nirali Bhatia, chalked it up to nerves from finding the Prothean artifact three weeks ago. It was priceless tech, and priceless items lying around upgraded the chances of pirates hitting the dig site from exceptionally rare to bloody likely. Not to mention increasing the chances of pirates who dealt in blood. Or worse.

A few minutes with an omni-tool and some elbow grease saw the assault rifle in working order again. "Alright, done," Ash said. "Remember what I told you on the firing range...burst fire is your friend."

Nelson nodded gratefully. "Right...sight, breathe in, squeeze, release, breathe out. I'll do better this time, chief."

"Do your best, Nelson. Dism-"

Ashley's response was by the rear of the armory collapsing, a rush of wind and splintered pre-fab plastipanel knocking both women to the floor. Ash was on her feet again in seconds. She grabbed for her rifle among a pile of tools and parts, tossing a stunned and bleeding Nelson the freshly repaired Lancer. To the younger woman's credit, she popped the gun open as she caught it.

Ashley opened her hardsuit's comm. "Crane-2 to Crane Base, come in!" Static. Fuck, not now, Ortiz, not one of your smoke breaks! She repeated the call, squinting towards the back of the armory as the dust settled. Again, static. "Fuck me sideways," she hissed under her breath. Nelson jerked her rifle from side to side, her finger mercifully off the trigger.

The static resolved itself, finally allowing a voice through the chaos. "Crane-4 to Crane-2," Nirali's accented voice replied, "Crane Base is-" gunfire "-peat Crane Base is KO'd. Requesting rendezvous site." More gunfire erupted over the comm. Ashley felt her insides turn to gelatin. Lieutenant Tate, Sergeant Coyne, Private Ortiz...gone, just like that.

"Copy that, Crane-4. RDV at the dig site, if we have hostiles. Grab anyone you can find on the way. I have Nelson. Williams out." Ashley turned, grabbing her own rifle off the workbench. "Private' we have to..."

Her voice died in her throat when she saw the silver and blue mechanical bodies with flashlight heads. Saw them holding Nelson over a strange, tripod-like device. Nelson, too horrified to scream, met Ashley's eyes. A loud _ka-chunk_; blood fountained out of her mouth as a six-foot titanium spike erupted through her abdomen, raising her into the air like a pinned butterfly in a science exhibit.

Ashley backed up slowly, one step, two. By three, she was running as if the hordes of Hell were behind her. As she ran, she took stock of what she had with her. Her sidearm, the rifle she'd been working on, her hard suit; that was about it. She needed to meet up with Bhatia and the others, to take command, protect the colony and the dig site. Doing this allowed her to stuff the panic down deep; she needed to be in the now, and process what she saw later.

The late afternoon sky was bloody orange, the sunlight painting the landscape in wildfire and blood. Dark shapes dotted the colony below the ridge she ran on. Here and there the flashlight faced robots took up positions, setting up more tripod things, getting ready to spill more human blood. Ashley stumbled, the rage and confusion inside her anesthetizing the painful lance that shot up from her ankle. She kept running.

The dig site appeared, and she saw three or four (_three or four oh shit the 212 was 75 strong why so many gone were they like Nelson_) armored figures holding back more of the flashlight creatures. The machines were advancing forward quickly, supported by some automated drones that whittled away kinetic barriers like water against rock. Ashley dropped into a crouch, drawing a target into scope as her knee touched the dirt. She dropped two of the drones before the robots saw her. All but two turned to face where the shots originated from, but Ashley was already moving, ducking behind rocks and trees as she went. She stopped to breathe, squeeze off a shot, then move on to a new position. In a matter of minutes, she or her pinned teammates had the squad of synthetics cleaned up.

Breathing hard, Ashley jogged up to the group. "Report," she ordered, seamlessly transitioning into command until she was told to do otherwise. After all, when the chain of command is in snarls, nothing gets done until someone shows up with a plan. Or, when they show up willing to make it up as they go along.

Serviceman Bhatia turned. "Jesus Christ, what are those things, Chief?" She gave a quick salute before returning to patching up grazes and cuts with medi-gel.

"I don't know, but they're coming on hard." Ash took stock of the survivors from the 212 base. Herself, Bhatia, Servicemen Moore and Johnson, Quartermaster Gherig. That was all. _Damn it all..._ she shoved the fear down into her guts again - _process it later _- and started planning. "Ok. Johnson, punch up a distress call to the _SSV __Normandy_. That's the ship that was coming to pick up the beacon, they should be in the system by now. Moore, Gherig, take point. Bhatia, suppression fire, I'll take the rear. Let's press on to..._GET DOWN!_" She bellowed the last, snatching her assault rifle off her back and laying down some quick bursts of suppression fire. Moore of the flashlight heads were coming in, and if they were pissed about Ashley aceing their buddies in the other squad, they didn't show it. They were cold, methodical, precise machines of death. She heard Johnson frantically recording a distress message, beaming it out to wherever their backup was. She knocked Gherig aside as she struggled to close the gaps in their flanks.

Moore gasped. "What is _that?!"_

A huge gust of wind staggered her, and a midnight blue shape in the sky caught her peripheral vision. She turned, and the slippery cool fear critter she'd been fighting to bury for the last twenty minutes snaked up and grabbed her by the lizard brain.

It was a ship. A huge, steel-blue ship. It looked like a weird combination of squid and cuttlefish. Its tentacles reached for the ground like a demonic hand, like the Devil himself snatching at the colony's namesake. A strange, braying hum filled the air, rattling Ashley's teeth.

Ashley sighted down the assault rifle's barrel, took a breath, and silently prayed to her God.

_The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..._


	4. Prophet

Parallax

By Celtican

Four: Prophet

_The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
__Are full of passionate intensity._ - W. B. Yeats

(Saren Arterius)

Through the comm feed, Spectre Saren Arterius watched the three figures approaching the council's platform. He grunted, disgusted, his mandibles fluttering in agitation. _So they've brought back the old ghost himself for this,_ he thought. He glared Udina, the human ambassador, a political patsy who liked to throw his toys when he didn't get his way. Udina, like the three councilors, were pests, thoroughly expendable when it came down to it.

The Spectre's acidic glare landed on Anderson, the upstart; who in the hells did he think he was calling him to the carpet. Humans had no business trying for Spectre candidacy; there were far too many from the established races who would turn rabid for that golden role; Saren remembered that elation at being picked, the youngest of his kind, the prodigal son. The title of Spectre was not something handed out to unknown quantities like humans. Might as well start naming hanar and elcor as Spectres, at that. Saren growled, low in the back of his throat. Fools.

No, humans were unknown quantities. In his opinion, sabotaging David Anderson's chances of becoming a Spectre was the best thing he'd done in his tenure as a Spectre.

Saren's cold blue eyes (one organic, the other augmented), slid over to the female to Anderson's right. Shepard. He zoomed the feed in while the politicians bickered and bitched, studying this latest affront to the Spectre name. She was small and fragile-looking; most other turians would dismiss her as soft and incapable of carrying anything heavier than a pistol, if she could shoot it the right way. Her close-cropped hair (_disgusting stuff, practically fur_, he thought, then shoved it aside) closely resembled a variety of kelp he'd seen on the beaches near his hometown on Palaven. She was pale, her skin carrying an olive cast that Saren wasn't sure came from the video screen or not; the olive cast was enhanced by the seaweed-colored hard suit she wore. Her face bore a scar, a thin line slicing from her left temple, across her face to a deeper hook under her right eye. She'd been hit by thresher acid, if he recalled correctly. Barely hit, if she'd still kept her vision...or her head.

Three things caught Saren's attention at a primal level, prompting wariness in the predator inside him. Number one, her reddish-brown eyes (_the same color of old krogan blood_, he recalled_, or fresh human for that matter_) held the same intelligence he'd seen in hunting animals back on Palaven. She wasn't a fool, for all that she was human. Number two, she carried herself like a predator; she held a combat stance from the waist down, feet planted solidly at shoulder width, arms light and loose from the shoulder, ready to reach for a weapon or glide into close combat.

The third thing he noticed were her hands. She'd taken off the gloves of her hardsuit at some point, probably in some misguided and stupidly human gesture of approachability. Her hands, small and frail like the rest of her, were still, with a small exception. He'd seen corpses with more animation than those hands did. Her dominant hand's index finger was the only thing that moved; it beat a silent, impatient tattoo on the side of her leg. Saren glanced up at the equipment kit mag-locked to her back; she carried a pistol (of course), a shotgun tucked up just over her lower back (a brute's weapon, pointless), and a well-used but well-cared for sniper rifle. Hahne-Kedar, from the look of it, but an older version of the current Avenger line. Saren chuckled darkly; she did her wet work from far away, did she? How simple it would be to spin her as a bloodthirsty coward, if it came to it!

When he brought his attention back to Shepard's face, her predatory gaze seemed to glower back at him. He fought the urge to rise to his feet in a dominance display. It would be unseemly to show himself so bothered by a mere primate.

"The evidence you have is largely circumstantial," the asari councilor was saying, "and frankly incredible."

Saren decided to make his voice heard. "Nihlus Kyrick was a fellow Spectre and friend. Surely his death is tragic, but why lay it at my feet?"

Shepard beat Anderson to the punch with her indignant reply. "There was an eyewitness who watched you put a bullet through his skull with your sidearm; how is that circumstantial?" Her response was to the council, but her eyes never left Saren's. Her voice was low and confident, authoritative. Her eyes said what she was thinking, however: _I know what you did, you know what you did. Why do we dance with these fucking politicians, Arterius?_

"Well, I suppose if I can't defend myself against the dreams of humanity's pet project, I certainly can't against a dock worker who'd only survived the tragedy at Eden Prime by – what is that charming phrase you apes use? Ah yes...'catching a few winks of shuteye' in the freight," Saren replied, sarcasm oozing over his words. Anderson predictably blew up, Udina bellowed for someone to pay attention to him...but intriguingly enough, Shepard said nothing. The scar across her gaze flushed red, like an artery below the surface of her face. Her index finger stilled, frozen in what Saren recognized as a safety position one would use near a gun's trigger. He grinned savagely, his mandibles wide, showing his race's vicious teeth. _Catch me if you can, ape, _he said with his gaze. In the video, Shepard nodded imperceptibly, as if she'd heard his insult and taken the challenge, to be decided at a later date, of course. As warriors, of course, and not in the circus of political bullshit. Of course.

With much chest beating and avowing of finding proof, the human delegation stalked away. Anderson gently tugged Shepard's arm, breaking her fiery glare at Saren's projection. With one last comment to the councilors about how he had "real Spectre work to deal with," he cut the feed. Behind him, he heard a gentle throat-clearing.

"Benezia," he said coolly, not turning. The matriarch had done her best to herd him into achieving his ends on a more diplomatic (asari, in other words, not turian, and not particularly _his_) note. In the end, the ship had helped him cow her into submission.

"Saren," the matriarch replied, equally cool. "You found something intriguing about Shepard, I gather."

"I did," he agreed. "She's probably the only human who'd be capable of being a Spectre for longer than a month."

"And yet you taunt her. She who could end this little sortie before it gets off the ground."

Saren grinned his carnivore's smile again. "How better to inspire her conviction to challenge me and make an ass of herself?" He waved off Benezia's concern. "She'll be an amusing diversion, nothing more. If she proves herself worthy of joining us, so be it."

A pause, full of silent disapproval, like the matriarch was choosing her words cautiously (though more likely trying to get as much of her own intent out before the indoctrination robbed her of her voice.) "She may prove more than an amusement, Saren," she warned.

"How's that?"

"The name 'Shepard'...to humans, a shepherd is a guardian of sorts."

"I know. A guardian of sheep...for the slaughter. Don't use my species' superstitious proclivities to scare me off, Benezia. You've work to do on Noveria, I believe?"

Benezia sighed, the compulsion behind his words (thanks to his ship) impossible to ignore. "Yes, Saren," she intoned, her voice hollow. With that, he heard her footsteps withdrawing, leaving him alone with his thoughts. With _Sovereign_'s thoughts, too.

- You dally, Saren. _Sovereign_ spoke through his implants, through his thoughts. He felt blood beginning to leak from his sinuses; worrisome, but part of the process of joining with his benefactor.

- Patience. I swore my word to deliver, did I not?

- Oaths are irrelevant. You are wasting time.

Saren felt his insides flip-flop nervously. - I will honor my agreement, as you will honor yours, I trust

– See that you do.

_Sovereign_ withdrew from Saren's mind, leaving the turian gasping. He wiped the blood from his mouth and face with the back of his hand, cobalt streaks painting a parody of his old tribal markings.

While he'd admonished Benezia for bringing up the old turian superstitions behind clan-names, he did believe in his own name's meaning. His VI translator spat Shepard's name out as the turian word for 'guardian', which confirmed her words. By this old belief Saren felt, given his current status as envoy for the Reapers, in the right place at the right time.

His own surname translated to 'bringer of ages,' or 'prophet.'


	5. The Game's Afoot!

Parallax

By Celtican

Five: The Game's Afoot!

"_...when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be the truth." - _Sherlock Holmes

[Kaidan]

For a boozed-out dive of a place tucked in a back alley of Zakera Ward, Chora's Den was adequately busy. The music was some rehashed remix of a rehashed remix of a vaguely popular asari song, and predictably loud enough to make his heart throb with the music (whether he wanted it to or not.) Kaidan saw the first fuzzy-edged auras appearing around tables, chairs, and the nimble asari dancer shaking her ass above the bar; he knew he'd be punching a ticket to migraine-ville later, and groaned.

"What's wrong, LT?" Chief Williams asked. "Too many boobs, not enough eyeballs?" She grinned playfully when he rolled his eyes.

"I wish that was my problem, Chief," Kaidan replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Hang in there, Alenko," Shepard said, an arched eyebrow the only sign she found Williams' statement humorous. "We'll be out of here once we find Harkin...the music sucks here anyway."

Alenko chuckled, surprised at the candor from Shepard, of all people. During the flight from Eden Prime to the Citadel, Shepard introduced herself to each member of the crew, giving more time than the abrupt inspection when she'd first boarded the ship. He found it amazing how easily the commander found inroads into people; he was equally surprised to find his commanding officer attractive, intelligent, and a lot less frigid than he'd heard. She was shorter than he was, barely coming up to his chin. She had glossy black hair cropped close to her skull, but the look didn't take away from her femininity. Her brown eyes gave away what she was thinking, especially when she was angry; it didn't help that the scar across them flushed red with her temper. A part of him had wondered what it would be like to run his thumb across it, weirdly enough. In a moment of (stupid) boldness, he'd asked why she'd kept the scar. She'd tilted her head to the side, thought about it, then said, "It seemed like I should, some how. To prove that I'd been there. I survived when the others didn't, and..." she'd hesitated, then been interrupted by a crewman with some report or another. That's how he'd figured out that her eyes were her tell; she'd seen the interruption and taken it as a relief. Akuze still bothered the hell out of Shepard, but she hid it well.

In addition to digging up mysteries about Shepard, Kaidan had spent time in the cargo hold getting to know Ashley Williams. She was smart, funny, and good-looking too, but not the way that had fascinated him, like Shepard. For someone with her skills, she didn't belong on a backwater colony maintaining weapons that were only used in extraordinary circumstances...which is what had happened. She'd rallied her troops and survived...again, like Shepard. Clearly, Shepard knew this as well, for she'd made it a priority to keep the chief busy, leaving little time to dwell on her fallen friends.

Now, in the throbbing dark flesh circus of Chora's Den, Kaidan wondered how much of Shepard's intuition was her, and how much of it stemmed from her infiltration training at N7.

"There, at that back table, near the turian," Ashley said, indicating the table with a nod of her head and not pointing. Shepard and Kaidan looked, seeing an aging human with brown hair tucking a credit chit into a waitress' g-string. He saw the small patch of scar over Shepard's nose wrinkle, in annoyance or disgust he couldn't tell

"Good eye, chief. I think the turian's on my list of 'people to talk to or else I can't get anything done in this fucking place,' anyway. Let's talk to him first, then find out where our friendly neighborhood C-Sec agent is," Shepard said snarkily. Kaidan barked a short laugh, startled by the straight-up jarhead language coming from his CO. He felt himself lose a little more grip on the voice inside him that said fraternization regs were stupid. He tightened his mental grip a bit more, focusing on the budding migraine to bring him back to reality.

The turian, a lovesick general half in the bag over the Consort, was definitely on Shepard's list. After a real barn-raiser of a speech to the effect of "suck it up, you're a turian general," Oraka seemed restored and coughed up the information about the elcor diplomat they'd met before. Kaidan, through the hurricane edges of his migraine, marveled again at how easily Shepard figured out exactly what to say to someone to unlock their doors.

Shepard turned her attention to the table where Harkin sat. "Can't _wait_ to hear what this guy has to say," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else, and ambled over, all business.

Harkin looked up at them, blinking through a palpable haze of booze (Ashley would remark later that she'd felt like she was swimming in vodka-breath near the guy). He barely registered Kaidan's presence, looked Ashley over like someone would a steak at a market, then completely molested Shepard with his eyes. "Well hello there, princess," Harkin oozed, patting his lap. "You came to the right place...why don't you sit that pretty soldier body on Pop Harkin's lap and we'll talk about what a good-looking gal you are?"

Kaidan, and from the corner of his eye Ashley, stiffened. As their hands dropped to their sidearms, Shepard put a hand up. _Wait a minute,_ the hand said, _I've got this._ Ashley relaxed instantly. Kaidan kept his hand on his pistol.

To his shock, Shepard's body language changed from soldier to slinky bar fly seamlessly. "Now that's just about the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day," she said, purring the words out. Harkin chuckled, leering. She giggled throatily (_holy shit I'd pay to hear that in my ear keep the flag lowered Alenko, think of biotic frequencies and not the frequency of her voice_ he thought frantically), and sauntered, sex in combat boots, around to Harkin's left. She trailed a gloved hand over his arm, up his shoulder, stopping at the back of his neck. "But you know what, Harkin?"

Harkin raised an eyebrow. "What?" He said.

In an eye blink, Shepard shoved the drunk's head down to the table, knocking over his drink. Harkin howled in pain as small fragments of his shattered glass dug themselves into his forehead. Shepard leaned down, lips barely an inch from the struggling man's head. "You will tell me where Garrus Vakarian is. Now." She said, the words flaming and covered in acid, but soft enough that Kaidan had to lean in to hear them.

"Fuck!" Harkin gasped, growling. "H-He's on patrol, b-by the clinic, some doctor he uses as an informant, should be there shortly before 1700, I swear it!" His words bubbled over one another. Kaidan was completely dumbfounded by the scene in front of him. Did he have authority to end this? Was this even legal? This was one of the rare occasions he didn't know what to do...so he decided to keep quiet. Ashley had prudently turned her back, eyeing the equally prudent patrons to see if Harkin had friends coming to his rescue.

"Thank you." Shepard released Harkin, backed away, and gestured for them to leave. "We're done here."

They made the walk to the clinic in silence. Just before they turned the corner, Shepard stopped them. "My apologies for losing my temper back there," she said. "I am not normally one who roughs up witnesses as an interrogation technique, but Harkin is the type of guy who doesn't listen to a) women, b) women in uniform that aren't strippers, and c) anyone more sober than he is. So, I needed to get through and speak his real language. If that startled or offended you, please feel free to make not of it in any reports you file. I own that action completely."

Ashley snorted. "Shit, skipper, I didn't see anything more than a douchebag being put in his place. I have your back." She stretched, looking out at the view of the arms of the Citadel. "Ma'am," she added.

Shepard's liquid brown eyes fell on Kaidan. "Lieutenant?" she asked. Kaidan looked back, searching for words as his brain threatened to climb out of his skull. "I uh...I guess I have nothing to say at present, ma'am," he said lamely. He saw her eyes sparkle with relief, though her face never changed. _She genuinely was afraid she'd scared me off,_ he thought, surprised.

"Noted. Well then," Shepard said, symbolically dusting her hands of the matter, "Shall we find Officer Vakarian? The game's afoot, my friends." She started off again towards the clinic. He and Ashley followed.

"This is gonna be a hell of a cruise," Ashley muttered to him.

He nodded, the little voice in his mind about fraternization gaining a small following from his hormones. "That it is, Chief. That it is."

_A/N: I really felt like the renegade action was still too passive for this dialogue in the play through. Sabrina wouldn't let me let him get away with treating her like a doll...so he gets the star treatment. :D_


	6. The Red Tape Noose

Parallax

By Celtican

Six: The Red Tape Noose

_We cannot expect people to have respect for law and order until we teach respect to those we have entrusted to enforce those laws. - Hunter S. Thompson _

[Garrus]

Garrus' black glower allowed him to head back to his C-Sec precinct, clock out, gather some datapads from his desk, and leave without too much interference. What little he did meet vanished with short, guttural sentences: "Weekend leave. I'm fine. See you later." Even if someone had stopped him and asked what happened, he was pretty sure he couldn't trust himself to answer with his voice and not a fist. He decided to settle his temper the way he always did, with a long walk down seven or eight levels of Zakera ward to his favorite watering hole on the edge of Shin Akiba. If he was to take the weekend to clear his mind, he would first cloud it up to impenetrability. It was easier than dealing with the sting of truth in Pallin's words.

He also heard the nattering voice of his father in his ear, warning him about cops who crawled into the bottle to put out the flames of tough days. About how they wound up dull-witted, crooked, or dead. Garrus mentally added, _or like _Harkin. The thought modified his trajectory a bit, bringing him not to Chora's Den or Fringe, but to Quinn's.

Introduced to the place by a squad mate, Alicia Torres, Garrus frequented Quinn's for its quiet atmosphere, good choice of dextro-friendly drinks, and weirdly enough the food. Quinn's had an impressive menu of a human delicacy called _sushi_. It had caught on among the salarian and asari foodies on the Citadel, and even among the lucky few turians aboard that were not allergic to levo-amino foods. Garrus was not one of them, but luckily for him Quinn's went out of its way to offer dextro-amino options in equal proliference; for every one levo plate, there was a dextro one that matched.

Like more and more of Shin Akiba, Quinn's was run by a human. Quinn Segawa, the energetic woman who owned the restaurant, welcomed Garrus from the bar with a wave. He nodded back, and headed for the stool furthest from the entrance. A few minutes later, Quinn herself brought over a squat glass of pale amber liquid. Garrus eyed it, took a sip, and blinked as the warm, slightly fruity flavor of a pricey Palaven whiskey coated his mouth.

"Before you start asking me to take it back because you can't afford it, Vakarian, know that the first one's on me tonight, clear?"

"Er...clear," Garrus replied, gratefully sipping the drink. "Why, though?"

"You look like hell, and you looked like you had a hell of a day when I saw you coming up the block," Quinn replied, her strange almond-shaped green eyes twinkling sympathetically. "You do realize you've been here every day this week, right?"

Garrus counted back, surprised (but not surprised) that she was correct. "Damn. Well, call me a creature of habit," he said.

"Uh-huh. Usual plate today?"

"What's that been lately?"

"The Invictus, extra _panaa_ roe on the outside."

"Well, why break with tradition, then. Make it a double." He couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten that day, but decided to make up for a few missed meals while he was here.

"Okay then, it might be a bit; I picked up a new prep worker today, gotta show her how to make the rolls anyway," Quinn said, nodding her head in a strange little bow, then disappearing in to the back with his order. Quinn often hired on quarians on Pilgrimage who showed an interest in cooking in hopes of 'sending _sushi_ to the stars.' Garrus thought it was more along the lines of making sure no one took advantage of the kids while they worked their way from place to place. It was an okay move in his book, so he made sure to tip them directly when he could.

He was digging into his second roll when a familiar form slid into the stool next to him. "Thought I'd find you here," Torres said, ordering her usual with a wave to Quinn.

"I assume the rumor mill is already on fire?"

"Fire brigade has come and gone."

Garrus rolled his eyes. "Hah, wonderful."

"Either way, you need a break. When's the last time you got to sleep before oh-not-balls-early-hundred?"

"Wish I could remember," he said, taking a swallow of his beer. "I've been in ID for five years, Alicia...you'd think I'd be changing things for the better by now."

Torres snorted. "Man, you need leave the 'make a difference' bullshit to asshole politicians like Joram Talid," she said, then held up a hand to still his outraged rebuttal, "and no, I don't think you're wrong for feeling that way. Especially after Saleon. You know that." She finished off her own beer and waved the glass in the air for a refill.

The year Garrus discovered sushi in all its cross-species weirdness was also the same year as his aborted chase of the salarian organ-runner Dr. Saleon. Alicia's wife, Reba, had been one of the human hostages swept off the sensor grid with Saleon's ship. The two of them had earned a few nights in the brig for fighting the traffic controllers, and their friendship solidified into the partnership they enjoyed today.

Garrus rubbed a hand over his face. "I know." He paused. "I did get to meet Commander Shepard today though, after Pallin left."

Torres blinked. "Really now? How'd that go?" She grimaced for a moment, "Wait, don't tell me. You bull rushed her with the details of the case in hopes she'd bring it to the Council."

"Of course not! I'm a hothead, not mentally ill, Torres," Garrus shot back. "I told her who I was, and that I'd gotten shot down by C-Sec and wished I could be more useful to her side of the story. She was on the Alliance team that was ground-side on Eden Prime during the attack, you know."

"Interesting...but you're changing the subject. Again."

"What's that mean?"

"It means," Torres said, whipping out her omni-tool and typing something in. "That I'm paying for your meal and sending you home to sleep before I come to the office and find you dangling from a red tape noose." She stood, waving off his protests. "You can get me back later when you're in the clear with Pallin, yeah?

"Sure, everyone else seems to have their 'Save Garrus' shirts on today," he grumbled. Torres chuckled, bought him another drink, and waved goodnight. When she was safely out of sight, he popped open his omni-tool and started combing over the data he'd gathered for the billionth time. He finished the rest of the meal in silence, staring down into his omni-tool and generally ignoring anyone wanting to move him from the table.

He was about to give up when a message came in, startling him back to reality. He closed his files and rubbed the back of his neck. Most of the people who'd been there whe he'd arrived were long gone. He opened the message, and was on his feet before he'd finished reading it.

_Garrus, Fist sent men over about what we talked about. Send help, please! -Dr. Michel_

* * *

A/N: This was a tricky one to write, and I love Garrus. For what it's worth, I picture the sushi he orders as a Boston roll with _tobiko_ (flying fish roe) on the outside.


	7. Getting the Job Done

Parallax

By Celtican

Seven: Getting the Job Done

_I love hitmen. No matter what you do to them, you don't feel bad. - Marv, __Sin City_

[Wrex]

Fist's face exploded into blood-and-brain confetti, and when the echoes of his Rosenkov shotgun faded into ringing in his good ear, Wrex knew he'd done two things. One, he'd completed his contract for the Shadow Broker and was several thousand credits richer. Two, he'd pissed off the tiny human female with the scarred face. In krogan terms, a pretty damned good day.

"What the fuck was that?" Shepard, barely coming up to his chest plates, shouted up at him. She looked about ready to punch a god, let alone a weathered piece of varren meat like him. He glowered down, all eight feet of him loose, complacent. He was ready for a fight, of course. So were the human who reeked of biotic residue and the C-Sec turian with the pole up his ass who stood behind him. Amusingly enough, she was calling him out, something she hadn't demonstrated she had the quad for. Judging by her display of letting civilians who'd picked up guns to defend their boss (as stupid as that idea was), he knew she was soft, but smart. Probably smart enough to forget where her checkbook was when this little shenanigan was over.

Wrex decided diplomacy was in order, if only because he recognized that she was a) a capable warrior, and b) wasn't used to dealing with mercs.

"I told you," he said patiently, careful not to sound like he was treating her like a pup, "Fist was my hit. I work – well, worked for up until a few seconds ago – for the Shadow Broker. You knew I was a mercenary, so getting the job done is my number one priority, right under 'not getting killed' and 'cashing my paycheck.'"

Shepard glowered up at him. The thresher maw scar (even if he hadn't heard of Akuze, there was no mistaking that acid burn pattern) on her face was redder than his armor with rage. For a second, he wondered if he shouldn't have waited til after she and her little cadre had left for the quarian before repainting the office with Fist's brains. It might have been better than angering someone who'd been marked by a totem of his people (not that many krogan gave a shit about totems anymore) in such a visible way. He waited with the patience of several centuries' experience to see what this angry pink pyjack would do.

What happened surprised the hell out of him. Instead of shouting more (typical human response) or just shooting him (typical response for every other race out there), she made like she was turning away, then whipped around and headbutted him. No telegraphed motion of the neck or shoulders, no eye contact and no helmet. Just a very simple, very krogan, headbutt that said _I hired you not to fuck up, and this is how you repay me?_

Stars in his vision and at least one layer of crushed cartilage in his nose told him that he'd chosen the right human to hire himself out to. He wasn't even mad. As his vision and nasal passages cleared, he heard her say, "Next time, you will listen to my instructions and follow them to the letter, unless the mission parameters change. Is that clear?" She had a shallow cut on her forehead, but she was still conscious and didn't look dazed. For their part, the turian and human looked like the tendons in their jaws had been cut.

He kept his face in a disapproving scowl, but Wrex was cackling internally. This slip of a thing, barely a twentieth of his lifespan old, knew how to talk to a krogan. "Yeah, I get you. Don't you have something more important to do than slap an old man around?"

Shepard blinked. "Fuck me sideways," she muttered, then headed for the door. She cut an impressive figure striding across the wreck of Chora's Den, plugging a few reinforcements with wonderfully timed shots from her pistol before the other two had a chance to reload.

As a battlemaster, Wrex knew combat talent when he saw it; now, she was a newly-blooded _khanek_ sword, still reeking of the forge. With his unspoken guidance, she might become a weapon warriors would sing about.

That was later, however. Fist had sent the girl to a meet and greet with one of the nastier non-batarian slavers in the Terminus system, and Wrex was now being paid to be the cavalry. _More interesting than getting shitfaced on Omega for another month anyway,_ the krogan mused as they entered a darkened alley near the markets.

Shepard called for a halt with a raised fist. They'd gotten the jump on the girl and the slavers, and Shepard wasted no time deploying the turian to a sniper's nest on the right of the corridor, taking up a similar place to the left. She sent the other human around to the opposite entrance, a sound hammer/anvil tactic that Wrex thought he'd be better suited for, but he let the kids set their board up how they liked it. He hunkered down behind some boxes on point. Playing 'krogan-in-the-box' usually made for some hilarious post-op stories, and he thought he ought to put on a good show for the new management.

After the argument between the slaver and the quarian finally came to blows, Wrex was pleasantly surprised for the second time that day. Instead of just running for cover, the quarian dove for it, tossing a handful of grenades behind her. She landed with a muttered _oof_ beside Wrex, her back to him as she pulled out a wicked little shotgun of her own. She jumped when a shower of bullets came from Shepard and the turian, not expecting the fire support to clean up the enemy she'd made. She jumped again when she realized she was sharing cover with a krogan.

"Hi there," he said cheerfully as he popped up and blasted an advancing turian with a face full of mass-accelerated slugs.

"Uh...h-hi?" the quarian replied, alternating her volleys with his. She wasn't nearly as proficient with the weapon as he was, but she showed promise. _At this rate, I'll be – what was it that Massani guy said when I ran with the Suns? Oh yeah – a goddamn 'crazy cat lady' if I keep picking up all these strays._ Wrex chuckled a little, both at the remembered conversation and the wide-eyed confusion staring back from behind the quarian's visor.

"Urdnot Wrex. Make sure you fill out the survey to improve future rescue experiences, yeah?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

Once the smoke cleared, Shepard's crew regrouped, introducing themselves to the quarian, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. Wrex found this part boring, and sauntered behind them as they made their way through the markets and to the one of the interminably long elevator rides to the Presidium, mentally making a list of things he ought to pick up before they left rather than contribute to their seemingly dire conversation about Spectres and geth and whatever else threatened the galaxy this time around.

Wrex, for his part, wanted a bigger shotgun.


	8. The Traveler

**Parallax**

by Celtican

Eight: The Traveler

"_If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay at home." - James Michener_

Tali rubbed her shoulder, still sore from the shot from Saren's assassins, but healing. The ebb tide of the antibiotic cocktail she'd been swimming in for days was also a welcome sensation, since that meant her stomach would no longer declare ware on every meal she consumed. She tucked her feet up under her blanket. It was thin, but intricately woven with insulating and conductive fibers designed to keep the user comfortable based on the ambient temperature. The weaving also served a decorative purpose, as Tali's was woven in the traditional Zorah family pattern that matched her exo-suit. Wrapped in this reminder of home, she busied herself with studying the _Normandy's_ technical schematics.

Externally, she was a beautiful ship. Tali embarrassed herself on the docks, practically falling off the gantry trying to see every possible angle of the ship. A choice crack from the helmsman from an external intercom in the airlock rushed her back to reality, flustered and humiliated. She stuttered her way through introductions to the _Normandy's_ engineering crew, until Lt. Adams took pity on her and set her to work dismantling and recalibrating some spare heat sinks. This earned her points with Adams when she finished the task in minutes, increasing the efficiency of the Alliance standard models and eliminating extraneous parts. After that, she felt much more at home.

_Normandy_ was definitely a prototype, however. There were still some panels with clear adhesive protectors tucked away into corners, and Tali could see tangled masses of cables that made her fingers itch to streamline them. There was an unusual smell lingering in the air, more than just recycled and filtered oxygen; the ship still smelled brand new. The drive core (which by itself represented enough fuel and tech to refit at least twenty ships in the flotilla) was still shiny, reflecting the blue ripples of the eezo radiation where the coolant didn't fog it over.

The single, unnerving drawback to this beautiful ship was the silence. Everything worked as intended; there were no hull patches, no jury-rigged stabilizers, not a single salvaged bolt. Not even the air recyclers made the reassuring _wshhhhh_ as they kicked in. Thus, Tali was wide awake well into the _Normandy's_ night cycle, studying schematics she had already memorized, annotated, and revised into reports for Adams.

After all, the only time a quarian heard no noise on a ship was when they were dead.

Tali shivered, shaking off the anxiety the silence provoked for the second (_Third? Fourth?_) time that night. She'd toyed with downloading some artificial ship noise applications for her in-helmet audio system, but she found herself irritated by the "real quarian sound FX" knockoffs that she'd deleted it almost immediately. Her rational mind kept chasing off invisible monsters, reminding herself that clearly there weren't any alerts up, so everything was okay.

Right?

"Oh, just stop it, would you, Tali'Zorah?" she chided herself. Her voice echoed in the empty compartment, the acoustics oddly flattened by the hull's configuration. She flicked off her omni-tool, determined to fall asleep through sheer willpower. She shut her eyes against the silence and waited for her chronometer to wake her for her next shift.

A minute passed. Then five more.

Tali repositioned her legs to ease the pressure on her hips and ankles.

And waited.

_Damn it all_, she thought. She crawled out of her bunk and headed for the main section of engineering. "Might as well get an early start..." she muttered as she headed up to the mess hall.

She had settled down with her nutrient packs and sterilization kit when a bleary-eyed Shepard sauntered in, mid-yawn. She wore what Tali assumed were casual clothes which consisted of loose thermal pants and a hooded zip-up shirt of a similar material. She carried a battered, garish mug made from what Tali guessed was pottery in her left hand, and data pad in the other.

"Good morning, Captain Shepard," Tali said, connecting the first of her food packets to the intake port near her jaw line. Shepard started, then turn to face the quarian.

"Oh, hi there," Shepard replied, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm a bit oblivious before I've had my coffee." She held up the mug in a sort of salute.

Tali nodded, taking a pull off the straw that had popped up when the contents of the tube were ready to eat. "I understand. Please, don't let me stop you," she said.

Shepard wandered over to the pull-down kitchenette and brewed a mug full of something strong and bitter smelling (though not unpleasant) which Tali gathered was 'coffee,' and began sifting through the boxes of MREs. Tali returned to her notes for Adams, swapping out nutrient packets as she read. She took the opportunity to study the commander through the privacy of her visor. Shepard was smaller than her reputation led on, if the gossip Tali had overheard from the crew were any indication. She moved quietly, lightly on her feet, an athlete's grace in her frame even freshly out of bed. It was weird to see someone _so still_. Her skin was pale, her hair and eyes dark, and Tali saw the edges of some sort of patterning peeking out from Shepard's collar. Tattoos, probably.

"It's 'lieutenant commander,' actually."

Tali started, irrationally convinced she'd been caught staring. "I'm sorry?"

Shepard hadn't turned from her fruitless hunt for a palatable MRE. "You called me 'captain.' I'm only a lieutenant commander. 'Commander' can be used for short, if you'd prefer, since Lieutenant Alenko is aboard as well." Shepard looked back at the quarian. "One on one, you can call me Sabrina. That's my first name."

Tali tilted her head to the side. "I, uh, think 'commander' will be fine for now, if you don't mind. As for the rank mistake, in quarian culture, the person who gives the orders and looks out for the crew is 'captain,'" she replied, not sure if she'd given offense, but opted to explain anyway for caution's sake.

"Really?" Shepard apparently gave up on finding something specific and grabbed a packet. She sat across from Tali, pulling the tab to activate the heat cycle. It was not the first time Tali found herself under the scrutiny of a commanding officer, having grown up an admiral's daughter. This time, however, she found herself wary; humans could be inquisitive to the point of rudeness, or the point of cruelty. Tali waited, preparing for the questions (at best) or the bigotry (at worst).

"I suppose that makes sense, given that unless you're an enlisted officer, rank doesn't apply," Shepard continued, then shifted gears. "I understand your father is an admiral?"

Tali blinked, surprised at the question. "Erm...yes...but how-"

"Relax; I received a message from him about an hour ago. He wishes you luck, by the way."

"Oh...well, thanks," Tali said, accepting the secondhand courtesy from an Admiral Rael'Zorah for what it was: a pleasantry.

"I'm glad I ran into you, actually," Shepard said, apparently fully awake now. "I was meaning to ask you and Garrus if either of you needed anything in particular in terms of rations, since I know Alliance vessels aren't usually loaded for mixed-amino crews. I mean...we have leftovers from when our last turian guest was here-" a flash of anger and sadness crossed Shepard's eyes, but was gone before Tali fully registered its presence "-but I can make sure to have the quartermaster requisition things from the Citadel when we dock. Fresh fruits and vegetables, perhaps some meat?"

"I can't speak for Garrus on the meat issue, since I'm a vegetarian, but anything you can find would be great!" Tali said, feeling flattered that the commander would go to this extent for non-Alliance staff.

"Alright. Anything specific to you for suit repairs? How about medical supplies"

Tali blinked again, and the wary feeling crept back into the lower parts of her brain. "I think I'll be able to manage, since I can ask for packet drops from the flotilla in an emergency...but why do you ask?"

Shepard tilted her head to one side, a gesture quite similar to the one used by quarians to request more information. Being in an exosuit that obscured facial expressions required some fluency in body language to communicate. She chuckled suddenly, embarrased. "Damn it, I'm sorry, Tali" Shepard chuckled slightly. "My curiosity got the better of me," she explained. "I grew up in space, on ships. My mother is a captain on a dreadnought in the Alliance Navy. Whenever I heard about the quarians, I always wanted to know more. All I ever got was hearsay, or dry instructional material in the N7 courses."

Tali nodded slowly, relieved. "I think I understand. No offense taken, cap-Commander. I'll gladly tell you whatever you'd like to know, so long as it doesn't compromise Fleet security."

"Of course, of course!" Shepard grinned like a child receiving her first exo-suit. "Good! The offer still stands though...let me know if you do need anything, and I'll see what I can do."

Tali snorted. "If you don't mind me taping some plastic to the fans in the air circulation units for some noise, it'd help me sleep."

"Oh, man, do I hear that...first time on a new ship?"

"If by 'new' you mean 'less than 28 trillion miles,' yes. _Normandy's_ so new I can still smell the protective grease in the air. It's just too quiet to sleep!"

Shepard looked puzzled suddenly. "Too _quiet_ to sleep? I must be sleeping in the wrong part of the ship then, because I hear just about everything from my quarters." Shepard gestured to the door just to the left of the raised deck where the sleeper pods were hung. "I haven't figured out if that was a turian suggestion or a human suggestion, but hearing the crew grind their teeth and fu-er, fool around is going to drive me to drink!"

Tali stared, mouth agape (though Shepard wouldn't have seen it). "You mean...silence is _normal_ for you?"

"Well, er...yeah. I guess it would be, since the ships we serve in aren't as old." Shepard pushed around the strange noodle things in her MRE. The orange sauce the pale yellow tubes rested in looked nauseating to Tali, so she resolved to avoid looking at the food entirely.

When the silence threatened to stifle them, Shepard cleared her throat. "Well, uh...it was nice talking to you, Tali," she said, packing up the MRE and dropping it into the recycler, casting the strange tubes and orange vomit-sauce into whatever repurposed the materials into waste or raw materials for the microfacturing areas of the ship. She turned to leave the mess hall.

"Shepard?" Tali asked.

"Hmm?"

Tali paused. "You know, I _do _think I want to ask for something else."

"Oh?"

"It's not often that a quarian can get a decent shower outside of the Flotilla. Most 'sterile' facilities still have enough bacteria or viruses around to cause serious illness. Is there a way I could modify an area of the ship for a clean room?"

Shepard scrunched her face up, considering for a moment. "I don't think I can section off part of the ship...but I bet Dr. Chakwas could help with a small quarantine room. I'd talk to her."

"Alright then. A rare shower is better than none at all," Tali said, pleased with the concept.

The commander smiled. "As for the quiet, I can send some musical suggestions to you that usually help me sleep."

"Thank you. Good night, Commander."

"Good night."

/_Grad school makes writing for fun hard! :( With luck, I'll be able to keep the update gap to no more than a couple of weeks. Thanks for sticking with me! ~ Celtican_


End file.
